30 JULY 1921, Page 17



I saw him raise two fingers to his chin, A lean, tall figure, careless of cold sleet, The stranger who had come with silent foot And paused to choose which house to enter in.

As blind men breed perception by their skin Those empty sockets stared from street to street: As, to tho exile, smells home-burning peat The fires of life allured his eager grin.

The grey light grew, birds hailed the coming day, Stars glistened faintly on Earth's mantle hoar, Men took tho horses where the ploughshare lay Both men and horses laboured as of yore

And death no longer loitered by the way—

Ho was within and one will rise no more.

A. Hima FisuEn.